


The Summer Sun in Winter

by Vyc



Series: Deep Dish Nine (Vyc Version) [4]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Alcohol, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Christmas Tree, Deep Dish Nine, Father Christmas - Freeform, Fluff, Hanging Stockings, Holidays, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Waiting for Santa, christmas day, home for the holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyc/pseuds/Vyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian has spent the last six months working as a doctor at a hospital in Andor. Now he's home for the holidays, to the joy of all of his friends--but especially Garak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 17

**Author's Note:**

> So this accidentally turned into the equivalent of a Nano project for me. And, like a Nano project, this isn't nearly as polished as I'd really like it to be. However, Christmas doesn't wait for perfectionists. Alas.
> 
> This is pure, unadulterated slice-of-life fluff from start to finish, by the way. Anybody looking for action or angst or complexity should probably look elsewhere. Anyone who wants to feel warm and cosy, though, make yourself at home!
> 
> I borrowed a little bit more from [tinsnip](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/) and [Lady Yate-xel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyYateXel/pseuds/LadyYateXel)'s discussions than usual, so I suppose you could say this AU is ever-so-slightly AU--at least where my version of it is concerned, anyway. 
> 
> On a serious note, this fic is dedicated to anyone for whom Christmas is not a time of good cheer. I wrote this as a way of showing what I think Christmas should be, not necessarily what it is. If you're going to have a difficult holiday season, then I hope reading about Julian and Elim having a good one will be able to give you something of an escape, even for a little while.
> 
> That's all. I hope everyone enjoys as I post this over the next few weeks.

This wasn't how Garak had imagined his first time seeing Julian since his partner had departed for his first assignment as a full-fledged doctor. 

When he'd daydreamed over a dull bit of sewing on a grey and rainy day, he'd always plotted out their reunion the same way: he and Julian would greet each other warmly—he thought he might set aside his discomfort with displaying affection in public far enough to receive or even offer a hug— and they would at once begin to catch up in a way that Airpe calls simply couldn't satisfy. And then, once the two of them were home in the privacy of Garak's basement apartment, they would catch up in a way Airpe calls definitely couldn't satisfy.

But then, only a few days before he was due back, Julian had mentioned that Jadzia wanted to meet him at the airport, too. Why not carpool and meet him together? Garak had tried not to seem too tepid about the idea; Julian having more than one person in his life willing to make the drive out to greet him was, after all, a good thing. But he was a dreadfully selfish man who had been deprived for far too long, and what he wanted more than anything else was to vanish with Julian into his apartment, not to emerge for a solid three days at least.

However, knowing it would make Julian happy, he'd cautiously agreed to the idea. Their next call had been a three-way conversation involving himself, Jadzia, and Julian to work out logistics. For the most part, Julian and Jadzia had done the talking while he had sat back and contributed a few words every so often (and had quietly lamented the audio-only call—none of them had a paid account that would have allowed video conferencing).

The day of Julian's return, he'd driven to the address Jadzia had given him for the apartment she shared with her sister and parked outside. As he'd waited for her to emerge, he'd turned on the radio. When their conversation inevitably stalled, it would provide at least some sort of distraction from the tedium of driving.

After less than ten minutes on the road, he'd shut off the broadcast. He'd also seriously reevaluated Julian's taste in friends.

Jadzia was nothing at all like Miles O'Brien. She was outgoing and vivacious, clever and mischievous, and if there was a subject upon which she couldn't hold her own, by the end of the drive, Garak had yet to find it. They spent the hour alternating between dissecting the poetry of Akorem Laan and shamelessly gossiping about all their mutual acquaintances, and if Garak hadn't been so desperately in love with Julian, he very well might have found himself smitten.

The magnetism of her personality was such that not even the sight of flurries whisking caross his windshield across his windshield could sour his mood. The weather had been hinting at snow for nearly two weeks now, and normally he regarded every last flake with deep dislike. Currently, however, they merited only a small, inward sigh as he listened to Jadzia fill him in on what Quark had confided in her the other day.

The only time their conversation waned was while Garak attempted to locate the short term parking area. Having been to this particular airport only once (as an arrival only), and given the way airports seem to be deliberately laid out to be as confusing as possible, it was a task that required a great deal of concentration.

"How long until Julian's flight gets here?" Jadzia asked once he had parked.

He checked his watch. "Twenty minutes. Although I assume by the time we locate his gate, we'll have very little time to spare."

"True enough," she agreed as they made their way toward the main entrance. She smiled, and her voice took on the tones he recognized from their earlier gossiping session. "You must be excited to see him."

He glanced over at her, briefly calculating. Jadzia was a delightful woman and it was clear she meant no harm to anyone, but gossip was a stream that flowed in two directions.

And so all he offered was a brief, "Mm, I am. Presumably most of his friends here are—it has been half a year since he left."

"That's a long time," she agreed, then tried again: "Do you have anything special planned?"

"Not currently, no. That will depend on Julian. He does have little more than a week, after all."

He raised his eyebrows and tucked his chin: I know what you're doing. Her response was a shrug and a charming smile: You can't blame me for trying. Which he couldn't, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to safeguard his privacy all the same. 

Once they were inside, a quick glace at the large bank of clocks showing the time in the world's major cities was enough to speed both their steps. There was no time even for him to stop and brush the snowflakes from his coat, though he certainly made the attempt as they flew along the airport's many corridors. 

Fortunately, their haste paid off: they reached the gate with even a few minutes to spare. Once there, they joined a small crowd consisting of mainly Bajorans and Federation citizens of numerous backgrounds, all similarly waiting for loved ones returning for the holidays. He and Jadzia attracted a few looks (him for being Cardassian and her for being beautiful), but they were distracted at best. The prospect of being reunited with someone long absent easily overwhelmed distrust or admiration and for once, he could sympathise.

A murmur started up as soon as people of all shapes and sizes of tired began trickling through the gate. Around them, the waiting group began to disperse, which Garak registered with the small corner of his mind that constantly evaluated his environment and monitored for threats. He also was registering the absence of what he was searching for. Being so tall and slim, Julian should have been simple to pick out. And yet. . . .

"Are you sure this is the right gate?" Jadzia asked when the opening and closing doors through which the arriving travellers had passed closed and did not seem ready to open again.

"It _is_ Gate 26." He gestured at the brightly lit sign a dozen or so metres away. "According to the information Julian sent us, this is where we should be."

"Excuse me."

He and Jadzia glanced over to a woman around his age with a greying afro—an American, judging from her accent. She was standing a few metres away before a tall display that presumably listed arrivals and departures.

"Are you waiting for Flight 2247?" she asked once it was clear she had their attention.

Jadzia took a few steps in her direction. "Yes, that's right. Has it been delayed?"

"It says it's just landed at Gate 43—it looks as though they changed gates at the last minute." She sighed. "Do either of you happen to know where that is?"

Garak closed his eyes and mentally pulled up the map of the airport he'd memorised out of habit the previous night. . . . Then it was his turn to sigh. "At the opposite end of the airport, apparently."

"Guess we'd better move fast," Jadzia commented, but in spite of her relaxed demeanour, she set off with long strides.

The American's name was Tonya Moore, apparently. She was waiting for her niece, who had been visiting a close friend in Andor. Jadzia provided their own story, and soon the two women gave every appearance of having been friends for decades. Garak contributed where he could fit into the conversation, but mostly, he marvelled. He'd once been responsible for passing along information for the good of Cardassia, but it seemed to him what he would have needed to spend two weeks uncovering, Jadzia could obtain in five minutes—while making a friend into the bargain. What an incredible woman.

They wove around sluggish travellers, walked briskly over moving sidewalks and up and down escalators, but it still took far too much time to reach Gate 43. Ms. Moore's niece was present and they soon lost their companion to a joyful reunion, but Julian, as he'd feared, was nowhere in sight.

"So what do we do now?" Jadzia asked once she'd returned from exchanging phone numbers with Ms. Moore.

"I'm assuming you've already texted him," Garak answered.

"It was the first thing I did when Tonya realized we were at the wrong gate. Either his phone is off or it's dead. Knowing Julian, I'd say the second option is a pretty good bet."

"I'm afraid I would have to agree with you." He glanced about. "I suppose we could try asking the attendant."

He nodded at a white Bajoran man who seemed very involved in his computer screen—though whether what held his attention so closely was work-related or videos of cats remained to be seen. Either way, he didn't have much faith in the observational skills of one so preoccupied, but at this point, their options were few.

But fortunately there was no need to put the airport employee to the test, as, just as they were arriving at the desk, Garak spotted—ah. He relaxed. Julian at last, dragging an enormous suitcase with a very familiar laptop carrier over his shoulder, looking rumpled and more than a little frustrated.

" _There_ you are! I was beginning to think I was going to be spending Christmas in this airport," he said by way of greeting as he parked his suitcase. "What kind of airline changes gates at the last minute without telling anyone?"

"Yours, apparently," Jadzia answered, manoeuvring past the luggage to hug him with just as much exuberance as she seemed to display with everything else. "Glad to see you made it in one piece." 

Julian's frown turned into a grin as he hugged her back. For the moment, his discomfort seemed to be forgotten (though perhaps not quite forgiven yet).

Once they were finished, Garak stepped forward. "Welcome back to the Federation, my dear."

Julian's expression softened, becoming something more intimate. Somehow, over the months of Airpe contact, Garak had forgotten that the smile that could make his heart beat faster via slightly pixilated webcam could, in person, genuinely make him go weak in the knees.

He was spared the need to regain his balance in more ways than one by Julian wrapping him up in a hug that managed to exceed Jadzia's. Garak may not have matched his energy in return, but he more than made up for that deficiency in measured strength, and his eyes fell half shut. Julian might smell like all airline travelers, of terminals and of stale sweat and breath, but it didn't matter. Though Garak had been the one to remain behind, it was only now that he felt as if he were truly home.

"It's good to be back," Julian murmured into his ear. Garak shivered. "God, I missed you."

And then he departed from the script of Garak's expectations by kissing him full on the mouth.

The piece of his mind that always shouted at him for displaying any sort of emotion in public took longer to be silenced than he'd once been able to manage when he and Julian had both been living in the same city, but it was silenced all the same. It was the first time they had kissed in six months, and if anything could quell his instincts, it would be that.

He even forgot himself enough that, when they separated after what truly was very little time at all, he nearly leaned forward to kiss him again. But he recalled himself and took a step away, which was for the best, judging from the wide smile Jadzia now wore.

"You two are so _sweet_ ," she declared wickedly, clearly determined to make them blush. 

She was successful with Julian, but Garak only gave her a bland look. "I'm pleased we meet with your approval."

He reached for Julian's free hand; the speed with which Julian tangled their fingers together made his heart trip in his chest.

"Now, while the two of you may care to linger, I would really prefer to be on my way, in case the flurries we saw earlier decide to become snow," he went on. "If either of you wish to explore, by all means do so. But do keep in mind that I'll be taking the car with me."

Julian grinned, just as Garak had been hoping he would. "I saw everything I care to see of the airport looking for the two of you. What about you, Jadzia?"

"Well, it _is_ a nice airport. . . ." Jadzia pretended to consider her options. "I like the renovations they did. But I think looking at them up close can wait for another time."

"Then let's be on our way," Garak concluded.

Julian picked up his suitcase again, and with no further discussion, they left the airport. Until they reached Garak's car and stopped to stow the luggage in the trunk, Julian's hand didn't leave his for an instant.

*

"I'm beginning to wonder if Jadzia put sleeping pills in that eggnog she served me," Julian mumbled, his eyes closed despite the fact that they were, in theory, watching a movie together.

Garak pulled the blanket that covered both of them a little higher under Julian's chin. With the deepest of fondness, he said, "I believe that was the brandy. I've found alcohol and long periods of travel rarely mix to any positive effect. What time did you get up today?"

Julian groaned and wiggled into Garak a little more. "Four thirty in the morning."

"I rest my case."

On the way back from the airport, Jadzia had invited the two of them to stop by her place "for a while." She had reportedly excellent eggnog, and Ezri had just finished a large batch of Christmas cookies. As tired as he had been, Julian had accepted and, with an inward shrug, Garak had as well.

"A while" had unsurprisingly turned into "a long while" —the Dax sisters were nothing if not supremely welcoming hosts. They had even extended an invitation for supper, but, with an eye on the way Julian had begun to droop, Garak had politely informed them that they had plans. And so they had returned to what was at last _their_ basement apartment once more.

Julian had been too tired to be particularly talkative, which didn't bother Garak—he could have soaked up the sight of Julian eating at their table for hours. After, he'd bypassed the DVDs of Cardassian experimental theatre in favour of _My Fair Lady_. The two of them had settled on the couch, Julian lying against his chest, and they had then begun the hopeless task of making up for six months' total absence of physical contact.

"I'm beginning to think a move to bed will shortly be in order," Garak went on.

He received no response.

He lifted his head from the back of the couch to attempt a glimpse at Julian's face. "Julian?"

"Mmm?"

The sound was endearingly slurred with exhaustion; Garak chuckled softly. "Once again, I rest my case. It's time for bed, my dear."

Julian stayed silent before letting out a long sigh. "I don't think I can move, Elim."

"I would recommend making an attempt. Otherwise, we'll both regret it come the morning."

With a groan, Julian sat up. As he squinted at the television, Garak took up and folded the blanket. He was ready with a doubtless unnecessary arm to help Julian along by the time Julian had worked up the willpower to attempt walking, and together they made the short but slow trek to their bedroom. 

A piece of regret tugged at him while Julian fumbled into his pajamas—once again, they wouldn't be following the script of his expectations—but it was a very small piece. He was going to sleep with Julian in his arms tonight. Everything else could wait.


	2. December 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak and Julian finish Julian's welcome home and pay a visit to Deep Dish Nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I had originally envisioned this fic as having a tighter scope (and much fewer words), it was about now that more of the characters in the world of Deep Dish Nine started dropping by for a visit. Given I generally have a great time writing all of them, it wasn't much of a hardship to let them stay.

Garak wasn't one for staying in bed after he'd woken up (not unless it was one of the bad days), but this morning was an exception. It wasn't anything he had decided in advance to do. It was simply that he couldn't bring himself to leave his still-sleeping partner behind. Even the idea of surprising Julian with the sort of breakfast that certainly wasn't a part of the diet of a new and extremely busy doctor didn't have enough pull to drag him out of his arms just yet.

However, eventually, he was forced to leave the warmth of their bed. It was Wednesday, which meant he still needed to open his shop. As much as he'd cheerfully consign it to hell right now, he still needed some form of income. And given Julian was sleeping like a corpse (albeit one with an almighty snore), it seemed not at all likely he'd awaken before his shop was due to open.

He ended up making pancakes by hand and leaving Julian's share on the table covered with a clean dishcloth, along with a reminder that there were strawberries, blueberries, maple syrup, and, of course, butter in the fridge. He didn't include where he had gone in the note: given the time of day, Julian would know and he was the only one who needed that information.

He checked on Julian one last time before he left. He supposed he could have simply listened for the snores to determine whether his partner was still asleep, but . . . that wouldn't provide him with the excuse to take in the sight of Julian asleep in their bed.

He was lying in the same position Garak had left him. One arm was slung out, ready to curl around him, and oh, but it was a temptation. _He_ was a temptation, his sheets-creased cheek, sticking-up hair and all. If Garak weren't so skilled at depriving himself, he would have given in.

But his shop awaited and so Garak left, cursing it all the way.

*

It was most of the way through the morning when his day made a decided departure from the mundane. He had been in the midst of a consultation with Mrs. Gowda, a new customer, over the final touches to a dress she'd commissioned for her company's Christmas party. Fortunately, it had been going very well. She was reasonable and level-headed and thus he had been spending every subtle means at his disposal to encourage her to come back.

Consequently, he barely looked up at the tinkling of the bell over his shop door—until, of course, he registered the newcomer not only as no threat, but the total opposite of a threat. Julian stood in the door, much more alert than the last time Garak had seen him, holding in each hand a paper cup from Janeway's.

Garak's heart gave a leap, but he was still able to say levelly, "I'll be with you as soon as I finish here."

Julian smiled, clearly amused; if Mrs. Gowda weren't such a good customer, Garak would have dumped her outside. "Of course. Take your time."

He did. It was a struggle, but as Julian wandered about the shop, he managed to wrap up the appointment without rushing or skipping any necessary parts. Mrs. Gowda thanked him for his time, and though it might have been his imagination, her smile was possibly shaded with indulgence as she left.

"Can I help you?" Garak asked Julian once the door had closed behind her.

This time, Julian's smile was beautifully sly. "Yes, I'm here to make a delivery of a hot chocolate for one Elim Garak. I was also hoping to have a private conference with him, provided there's room in his schedule."

Garak checked his watch and tried to pretend when he answered that all moisture hadn't just vanished from his mouth. "I have ten minutes before my next customer is due to arrive, but I believe I could fit you in."

"In that case, we had best get started."

Julian crossed the shop and set down the hot chocolate on the table used for meetings with customers; Garak removed his glasses and set them down next to the cups. Then, with remarkable control, they both walked into the back room and shut the door.

It was impossible to say who had reached for whom first, and it didn't matter one bit when the result would have been the same either way: Garak pushed up against the door, dragging Julian to him and their mouths hard against one another's.

Julian smelled, dizzyingly, of Garak's soap and shampoo. He kissed like a man deprived, just as Garak did, and if Garak hadn't had the door and Julian to support him, his knees would have given up on the spot.

"Why didn't you—mm, wake me?" Julian murmured between kisses.

Before the separation of their lips became unbearable, Garak managed, "Because I wasn't sure I could."

Julian broke off and rested his forehead against Garak's. "I don't sleep _that_ soundly."

"You did last night."

Julian only kissed him again in response. Then his hand slid around to Garak's chest and his gaze flicked downward, speculative in a way that shot straight through him.

"Julian, I need to meet with a customer in five minutes," he half-warned, half-pleaded.

Julian lifted his eyes to Garak's once more. They were dark, and with his well-kissed lips, the sight was almost enough for Garak to cancel his appointment then and there. He'd never liked Mr. Turner anyway. 

"All right," Julian said, his voice low, "but over the past six months I've saved up a very long list of things I want to do to you, and I intend to make an excellent start this evening."

Garak took in a sharp breath to steady himself, then raised an eyebrow. "Only if I don't get to my list first."

He was satisfied to see Julian's lips part at that. He leaned in for one last kiss before Julian stepped away and they both attempted to make themselves suitable for public viewing.

"I have to get some Christmas shopping done—shall I come back on your lunch break?"

"Please do." Garak smoothed down his hair; as always, Julian had made a mess of it. "I'll be ready for you in an hour and a half."

"All right, then." Julian smiled suddenly. "Why don't we go to Deep Dish Nine? I've been craving their pizza almost since I left."

"Very well, since it seems to be a day for indulging your cravings," Garak agreed with a lift of both eyebrows this time. Truthfully, it wouldn't have been his choice, but if he was being presented with the opportunity to give Julian something he wanted (and to make him flush still further), he was going to take it.

Julian ducked his head and smiled in the way that always left Garak utterly without defences, then said, "I should leave you to your customer and get to my shopping. Jadzia has been teasing me by saying that I'll be doing it all on Christmas Eve again, and I'd hate to prove her right."

"Then you'd best continue on your quest." He paused for effect, then added, "Or should that be start it?"

Julian pointedly didn't respond to the aspersions being cast. "See you for lunch, Elim," he said on his way out the door; Garak soon heard the ring of the bell at the front of his shop.

He smiled, caught sight of his expression in the mirror he kept for himself in the back room, and promptly tucked it away. By the time Mr. Turner arrived for his fitting, Garak was the picture of professionalism once more—even if, inwardly, he had gone to pieces in the best possible way.

*

When Julian returned for him slightly more than an hour and a half later, Garak was already dressed for the outdoors and waiting for him.

"How was your hunting?" Garak asked once they'd greeted each other (with a kiss—he had _missed_ kissing). "Will Jadzia be laughing at you?"

"She had better not, given she's the only one I found anything for," Julian said glumly.

"Don't despair, my dear. You still have a week." 

His only response was a sigh as they stepped outside. Garak locked up and placed the keys into the inside pocket of his coat. Their gloved fingers bumped, then laced through one another.

"I suppose you've had your Christmas shopping done since July," Julian said after a few moments of silent, contented walking.

"September, actually."

A sound of disgust. "Don't tell Jadzia. She'll have even more reason to tease me if she hears that."

"Perhaps I should tell her," Garak mused. "It would serve you right for sharing your secrets so carelessly."

Julian gave him a look. "Do that and you'll be sleeping on the couch the entire time I'm here."

"I'm the one who lives in the apartment year-round. How do you propose to do that?"

"Tell Jadzia and you'll find out."

They caught each other's eye and Garak gave his hand a light squeeze. Julian squeezed back; both their smiles widened.

When they stepped into Deep Dish Nine some minutes later, it was a surprisingly disorienting experience. Garak had eaten there a few times since Julian had left, on those days when he had felt the absence of a hand in his, though not so acutely that he would only be making matters worse by seeking out a place with so many memories. But mostly, his patronage had fallen to the wayside—his presence in the restaurant had only been guaranteed by Julian's.

Their usual seat was occupied, and so they ended up at their fallback seat. And in almost no time at all, Mr. Sisko's son was at their table, grinning away.

"Hey, Julian, welcome back! Should I be handing this over to you and getting out of your way?" Jake asked, offering his combination order sheet and writing notebook.

"Only if you don't mind me collecting your paycheque," Julian returned.

Not unexpectedly, the notebook was quickly pulled back to settle into its owner's grasp. Loss of income: the perfect threat for a university student.

Julian and Jake spend a few moments catching up, during which Garak searched for the healthiest selection on the menu. Already the explosion of holiday-related sweets had been making its presence known in unfortunate ways, meaning it was time to compensate in the other parts of his diet.

He waited for a gap in the conversation to insert his order. Once he had, it reminded Julian to follow suit, and shortly thereafter, Jake was on his way back to the kitchen.

"Hm, Worf and Kira are currently on shift? You're in for a warm welcome," Garak remarked; the information had been one piece of many Jake had sent Julian's way.

"There's Ezri, too," Julian reminded him. He squinted about. "Actually, I'm surprised she's not—"

"Julian!"

Garak suppressed a chuckle as the younger Dax sibling bubbled her way over to the table with a pitcher of water and two glasses. It became significantly more difficult not to express his amusement when she followed up her enthusiastic greeting with a guilty little glance his way. "Oh, um, hi, Garak." He was then completely forgotten. "I hope you weren't too hungover from the eggnog last night. I told Jadzia to ease up on the brandy but you know her." She gave a nervous little laugh. "She always likes to live dangerously."

"No, I can't say that I was," Julian reassured her. "If anything, the brandy helped knock me out so I didn't stay up too late."

"It's possible he would be asleep yet without it," Garak put in.

"Garak. . . ."

"Well, we wouldn't want that." Ezri fumbled a plastic glass, then stood it upright. "Oh, um, Jadzia is throwing a Christmas party this Friday night. She told me to invite you—both of you—if she didn't see you first."

"That's a bit late for her. She didn't hold it up until I got back, did she?" Julian asked.

"She did, actually. She said it just wouldn't be the same without you."

"She didn't need to do that," he mumbled, managing to look touched in spite of an embarrassed shoulder-hunch. He took a moment to tamp down his embarrassment by sipping from his newly filled glass. When he set the glass down, he answered more normally, "Well, tell Jadzia we'd be happy to come—" He stopped himself to dart a glance at Garak, sheepish.

Garak smiled. "Yes, we would both be happy to come."

"Great! I'll let her know. It starts at 8:30 and goes until god knows."

"Isn't it delightful to have traditions?" Julian said dryly, getting a laugh from Ezri.

"The best," she agreed. "It was great seeing you again, Julian—and you too, Garak. Text me when you have some free time, all right? I could do with a partner while I finish my shopping."

"How do you know I'm not already done?" Julian asked, affronted.

Ezri just shook her head. "See you later!"

"Is it that obvious I'm a last-minute shopper?" Julian demanded once Ezri had left.

"I'm afraid so." Garak reached out and patted his hand; Julian glared at him. "But, if I may provide you with a small measure of consolation: at least you aren't Mr. O'Brien."

Julian sighed. "Yes, at least I don't shop on Christmas Eve _every_ year." A grimace. "Just a lot of them."

"How many _is_ 'a lot,' might I ask?"

"Enough."

*

Their meal arrived after not very long at all, or so it seemed to Garak. (Of course, any time spent with Julian seemed regrettably brief.) The food was better then he remembered, although no doubt that was because he was no longer constantly eating it. He had partaken of far more meals here he'd particularly wanted to when he and Julian had been courting; overexposure could make any diet unpalatable.

When they went to the register to pay, Kira greeted them—or rather, Julian—with a large smile.

"Julian, welcome back! It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Nerys," Julian answered, his smile just as full.

How matters had changed between the two of them. Garak remembered very well Julian's initially fruitless attempts to make friends with Kira; it hadn't been until a few months before he had left for Andor that they had paid off. And now, it seemed, absence had done more still to raise Kira's opinion of him.

Her smile faded surprisingly little when she turned to him next. "Garak."

He bowed slightly. "Ms. Kira. You look well."

"Yes, very much so. What have you been doing these last few months?" Julian added.

"Working, mostly," Kira answered as she handed Julian his receipt (which was immediately crunched into a coat pocket) and began ringing up Garak's transaction. "Benjamin and I have been finalising making me co-owner of Deep Dish Nine, so I've been spending most of my free time here."

Julian lit up and even Garak found himself smiling in genuine pleasure on her behalf.

"That's wonderful news—congratulations!"

"Your success is well deserved," Garak added.

"Thank you," she said, looking happier than Garak had ever seen her. She held out Garak's receipt, which he took and folded tidily. "You should stop by and say hi to Worf—he's in the kitchen. He's missed you a lot."

Julian stopped halfway through stepping around the counter. " _Worf_ has?"

"That's right." A look of mischief actually crossed Kira's face. "But you'll never get him to admit it."

"Will wonders never cease," Garak said on a chuckle, then followed Julian into the kitchen.

Garak had only been in Deep Dish Nine's kitchen on a few occasions—certainly not often enough to feel the same ease as Julian while stepping into an area clearly not intended for the general public. (Out of habit, he feigned an air of belonging anyway.) Despite his relative unfamiliarity with the place, even he had to smile at the sense of rightness when they found Worf in precisely the same place as always. He still wore the same pair of high quality sound-cancelling headphones, meticulously maintained, and if Garak listened carefully, beneath the noise of vegetables being chopped and the hum of the ovens, he could hear the soft bass rumble of German opera being sung.

"Worf!" Julian called as they approached, as uselessly as always. 

It wasn't until they arrived in Worf's peripheral vision that there was a reaction, and that reaction proved Kira right: Worf stopped singing, set down his knife, pressed pause on his mp3 player, and removed his headphones. His features even relaxed into what, just possibly, might have been a smile. Garak couldn't be certain, since he had nothing to compare it with, but it was an actual possibility. Would wonders never cease indeed.

"Julian. Welcome back," Worf said. He glanced to where Garak was standing behind his partner, and every ounce of charitable feeling in his expression was immediately locked away. (It really was delightful to have traditions in one's life, as Julian had said.)

Julian's smile, in contrast with Worf's, was much more evident. "Hello, Worf. It's good to see you. How have you been?"

Worf picked up his knife and resumed chopping his green peppers. He did not, however, turn on his music. "I have been well. Thank you for your concern. I trust matters have been satisfactory in Andor."

Julian leaned on the counter. "Yes, you might say that. Busy, but . . . satisfactory, all in all. Are you going to Jadzia's party on Friday?" While it was difficult for Garak to see his face at his current angle, from the impish note that had turned up in Julian's voice, he could guess at his expression.

Worf set down his knife. Garak could see his sigh in his entire body as, with great patience, he answered, "Yes. I am going to Jadzia's party."

At this point, Garak simply couldn't resist putting in, "How nice! I'll be attending as well—we'll have to share a few drinks together."

Worf scowled. "We will do no such thing. Approach at your own risk."

Julian stepped into Worf's sightline, putting himself between the other man and Garak. It was a gallant move, and one Garak could appreciate on a certain level—but mostly he thought that Julian was being amazingly foolish if he believed that his slender body would even slow Worf down.

"It's all right, Worf, he's only joking." Julian turned just long enough to send a silent "You'd better be" his way before facing Worf again. "I'm glad you're coming this year. It'll be good to have you. Jadzia's parties are always a wonderful time."

"We shall see," was all Worf said. He returned to his chopping with the sort of focus that suggested he had finished socialising now.

Julian stuck his hands in his pockets; Garak could hear the clink-clink-clink of keys being fidgeted with. "Well, ah, have a good day. We'll—I'll be seeing you around."

Garak noted that correction with a smile. Julian had just highlighted Garak's presence instead of concealing it. And rather than help his partner, Garak chose to further draw attention to himself: "I'll see you at the party, Mr. Worf."

Worf directed a thunderous look at Julian. His fingers tightened on the knife handle. "Get him out of the kitchen."

"Come on, Garak, your lunch break is almost over." Julian took him by the arm and steered him toward the door.

"You can tell the time without consulting a clock? What a tremendously useful talent," Garak replied, but allowed himself to be guided all the same. Despite his fondness for pushing certain members of Deep Dish Nine's staff, Garak had always been careful not to cross the line that would result in being banned from the restaurant. After years of maintaining his balance, he wasn't about to stumble now.

And so, choosing prudence, he and Julian went back into the grey-skied afternoon.

*

Julian walked with him back to his shop, where they arrived minutes before he was due to reopen. He returned at the end of the day and waited as Garak tidied up (rather more perfunctorily than usual) and locked up (just as meticulously as usual). Then they drove home together in Garak's car; though the distance between his shop and their apartment was short, he wasn't about to spend any more time outside than was absolutely necessary at this time of year.

And then, at last, once they'd had a supper consisting of Julian's favourite dishes, they made love. It was, of course, better than Garak had imagined. After, his senses filled with Julian, together they dozed, luxuriated in the simple pleasure of being wrapped up in a blanket and each other, and made love again.

Before sleep slowed his mind that night, Garak soaked in every last detail of their evening and pressed them into his memory. In the months until Julian's return, during the grey trudge of winter, he wanted something to look to for warmth. This would most certainly provide it.


	3. December 19 & 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jadzia's Christmas party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in this chapter I continue to enjoy including cameos from the other characters, because DS9 has such a great cast. A tip of the hat goes to tinsnip's delightful "[Dancing in a Dance Club](http://archiveofourown.org/works/696290)" for a certain part of this, which should be immediately obvious upon reading. ♥

This time, not long after Garak woke the next morning, Julian did as well. As he was sliding silently out of bed, long-fingered hands curled around his arms, long limbs drew him close, and it was a long time before he left the bed again. 

He'd had to rush through breakfast and rush through dressing and his toilette. It left him dreadfully untidy, but the lingering glow from their time together made the disarray worth it.

Over the next couple of days, he and Julian continued to settle into a routine . . . as far as the actions of such a short period of time could be considered such. While Garak worked in his shop, Julian caught up with his friends and continued his increasingly despairing quest to find gifts before the inexorable deadline of Christmas. They took turns selecting where to eat lunch—Julian's choice, when it came up, was once again Deep Dish Nine—and they spent at least part of every evening together.

Their routine changed when Friday, the night of Jadzia's party, arrived. Garak had decidedly mixed feelings about the whole affair, but if the choice was a boisterous Christmas party with Julian or peace and quiet without him . . . well, his decision had already been made, hadn't it?

He began reevaluating said decision when, out of the scattered mass of belongings that had once somehow fit into a single large suitcase, Julian produced a garish Santa hat.

Garak felt his nose wrinkle all on its own. "Tell me that isn't part of the dress code."

"It could be." And before he could stop him, Julian had plopped the hat onto his head. His partner immediately was rendered helpless with laughter.

Garak let him have his fun for one stoic-faced moment before removing the hat from his head in the sort of pincer grasp most people reserved for handling dead fish.

"I believe if anyone is to submit himself to this commercialised horror, it should be you," he informed Julian as he returned the hat.

Julian placed it on his head. "Thanks for the compliment, Mr. Grinch."

"I'm always happy to oblige," he replied with a sweet smile that earned him a grin and a kiss on the cheek. 

He felt his expression relax. Even if the party turned into a test of his endurance, that moment had already paid for all of it.

It didn't take either of them long to finish preparing, and soon they were out the door—once Julian had snagged a case of beer from the fridge that Garak certainly hadn't put there.

On the drive over and during a brief pause in the conversation, Julian asked, "Who's driving home tonight?"

"I assume I am," Garak answered.

There was a bit of guilt in his partner's voice when he next said, "It's all right—I don't mind being designated driver if you'd like to try the eggnog this time. Or anything else, for that matter." 

There weren't any stop signs or lights for a while, and so Garak kept his eyes on the road. He did, however, take one hand from the wheel to set it on Julian's knee. "Not to worry, my dear. My interest in drinking tonight is minimal. Even had I wanted to, I need to be at the shop and reasonably alert tomorrow morning, so either way, I can't afford a hangover. Feel free to indulge yourself to your heart's content."

"Thanks, Elim." 

He felt a mittened hand cover his; the corners of his mouth lifted quite without his permission.

The party wasn't being held at the Dax sisters' apartment, as he'd initially expected. Apparently not only was their home too small for the number of people Jadzia had invited, but their landlord had threatened to evict the pair of them if things got too noisy "again."

Instead, Mr. Sisko was the host. Though Garak had never been to his house, it was simple to find: it was the one lit top to bottom with holiday decorations almost as tacky as Julian's hat. It was also the one with cars packed in the driveway and lined up on either side of the street for what seemed to be half the block.

There was no place near the house to park, although Garak certainly tried to find something. The overcast skies had at last cleared late in the afternoon, just in time for him to soak up the golden day's-end sunlight. Once the sun had gone down, however, the temperature had followed, leaving the air unpleasantly sharp.

As they approached the house, the sounds of chatting, Christmas music, and laughter floated from a couple of slightly-opened windows on the second floor. It appeared the number of people inside was such that there was quite a bit of body heat being generated—a neat bit of furnace oil savings for the Siskos.

At Julian's knock, the door was opened by, unexpectedly, Nog. Though, then again, Garak supposed his presence made sense: he and Jake Sisko had been friends for years. As well, he'd heard Mr. Sisko had recently taken Nog under his wing, so to speak.

"Julian, Garak, welcome. May I take your coats?" Nog asked with more than a touch of self-importance.

"Oh, thanks."

"Yes, thank you."

Julian zipped off his jacket and rammed his scarf and mitts into his sleeve; Garak removed his coat, folded his scarf, and placed it and his gloves in the deep side pockets.

"Not a problem. Just leave the beer by the door and I'll take care of it," Nog added.

"Not by drinking it, I hope," Julian joked as he complied.

He got a weary look in reply. "Very funny. Mr. Sisko would like me to tell you to make yourselves at home, and if you need anything, talk to one of his family, myself, or Jadzia. Now if you'll excuse me."

Off he went with their coats. Garak kept an eye on him as he departed. His car keys were safe in the pocket of his trousers and he had worn outdoor clothing he wouldn't mind losing, but that didn't mean he was going to be careless with his belongings—particularly when the young man handling them had once had a reputation for being light-fingered.

"So, where to first?"

Julian's voice brought back his attention from Nog's attempted progress through the truly impressive crowd, and he transferred his gaze accordingly.

"To wherever you like. I have no particular plans."

"Well. . . ." Julian craned his neck, but before he could do more than start scanning the living room, there was a squeal loud enough to rise over the background din.

"Julian!"

This time, instead of Ezri, Leeta came charging forward, unhesitatingly scattering partygoers around her.

"Jadzia told me you were back—welcome home!" she exclaimed while wrapping up Julian in an enthusiastic hug. She seemed ready to hug Garak, too, but apparently thought better of it at the last minute.

"Thanks, Leeta," Julian answered with plain fondness. "How've you been?"

A few moments into the conversation, Garak left the pair to their reunion and let himself be carried away by the current of the celebration. Already things were proving to be more promising than he had initially expected. When Ezri had made the invitation, he had envisioned himself being the oldest present by a solid fifteen years: not an enjoyable state of affairs by any definition. He had been somewhat relieved to hear later that Mr. Sisko would be the host: at least there would be someone within five or six years of his age present.

But once again, he had misjudged Jadzia. As far as he could determine, her friends ranged in age from seventeen to seventy. He even saw one or two grey heads amidst the mass of people, and while the majority of attendees his age and older were unfortunately Klingons, it was certainly better than nothing.

And speaking of Klingons . . . . There was Worf, scowling away in the corner with a red plastic cup in hand. A redheaded woman he didn't know seemed to be attempting to coax him into the festivities and was obviously having little success. All she appeared to be doing was ensconcing him more firmly in his little domain.

Garak waited until he had caught Worf's eye, then feigned an expression of happy surprise and took a few steps in his direction. Worf didn't quite crush the cup in his hand, which was a shame, but his expression was so murderous that it more than made up for the disappointment. Garak laughed, bowed slightly, and then moved on.

After a little more drifting, he came ashore near the refreshments table and in the company of a Klingon with an eyepatch, Martok. They had just gotten a really satisfying argument going when Jadzia stopped by, no doubt to make certain he wasn't about to be thrown over a table.

Martok's expression switched from the deepest of glares to the widest of grins, as quickly as if the man had changed masks. "Jadzia! There you are!"

They embraced fiercely (Jadzia's friends were a very physically demonstrative group), and Jadzia somehow had enough air left to reply, "Here I am, and here you are! You're not giving Julian's boyfriend a hard time, are you?"

Garak just barely managed not to wince at the descriptor, even when Martok repeated it.

"His boyfriend, eh? I was wondering why you'd thought it a good idea to invite such an argumentative fellow."

"Funny," Garak inserted before Jadzia could speak. "I had just been wondering why Jadzia had seen fit to invite someone with no sense of fun."

"Boys, boys, settle down, now," Jadzia told them. Though she sounded amused, the hands she laid on their forearms were firm. She gave Martok a significant look before turning to him. "I don't suppose I could convince you to dance with me, could I, Garak?"

Garak glanced over to where space was being cleared with difficulty for a dance floor. Already, several couples had paired off, including the Siskos. He returned his gaze to Jadzia and said mildly, "I doubt it."

"What if I said it would make Julian very happy?" she asked.

"How do you know I can dance at all?" he asked right back.

"Because Julian told me. He says you're good."

Garak sighed and spared a moment to regret his betrayal. Then, ignoring Martok's grin, he conceded, "Very well—on one condition."

Jadzia's own grin was just as wide as her Klingon friend's. "Name it."

"We wait until _after_ 'Jingle Bell Rock' is over."

There was only so far he was willing to compromise his dignity, and that did not include dancing to a sixty-year-old novelty song.

Jadzia laughed. "All right. But you're mine for the next one."

When 'Jingle Bell Rock' was mercifully over and they took their place on the dance floor, he wasn't surprised to find Jadzia both a skilled and an energetic dancer. They attracted a fair number of second glances—or rather, he did—but as one of them was from a delighted-looking Julian, he didn't particularly mind. After, Julian insisted on stepping in (he didn't need to insist very hard to get Jadzia to bow out), and from then on, they stayed together for number after number.

Dance floors possessed their own particular brand of anonymity, and though Garak had been expecting otherwise given small size of this one, it turned out to be no exception. Despite knowing many of the people present by sight and even name, once the novelty of him dancing had worn off for his observers, he and Jlian were quite simply ignored. It left Garak feeling very nearly free to accept Julian's affection and even, sometimes, return it.

When music for a slow dance began, Garak came as close as he could to forgetting everyone else in the room. A small part of him remained aware, assessing proximity and risk, making calculations over and over again. But the majority of his focus was on the warmth of Julian in his arms, the synchronised movements of their bodies, the way the lights of the Christmas tree in the corner made the soft look on Julian's face even softer.

When the dance ended, they left the floor hand in hand. They went upstairs, where even the Siskos' office had been opened to guests. A pair Garak didn't recognize left just as they arrived; once they were outside and he and Julian were inside, he closed over the door, ignoring the start of Julian's protest at the selfish gesture.

But then, again without any sort of discussion, they drifted to the window. There they stayed for some time, arms around one another, silently watching the crisp and far-off stars.


	4. December 21-23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decorating the Christmas tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's where I'm really giving all of you a Christmas present: There will be not one, not two, but _three_ updates this week. This is the first, and the next two will follow on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I hope you'll enjoy them!  <3

When Garak returned home from his shop the following evening, his first thought upon walking into his apartment was that he had been searched. He tensed in preparation for dealing with the threat, but immediately afterward came the realisation that the belongings strewn about the floor . . . were from his box of Christmas tree decorations. His artificial tree stood in the corner by one of his bookshelves, and a string of lights straggled its way around the room. They were far too bright and LED and decidedly not the subdued white ones he normally used on his tree.

Garak stepped the rest of the way into the apartment and closed the door. "Julian?"

Julian appeared from the kitchen, a half-eaten gingerbread figure in one hand. "Hm?"

"Where did _these_ come from?"

"What are ' _these_ '?"

"You know precisely what I'm talking about."

Julian gave him a grin that was pure cheek. "I bought them. I thought your decorations could do with some livening up."

"It's called 'taste,' Julian." Garak nudged the string of lights with his toe. They twinkled away undeterred. "Taste doesn't need 'livening up.'"

"Come on, Garak, it's Christmas. Christmas isn't supposed to be tasteful. It's supposed to be _fun_." He gave him a wheedling look.

Garak gave in. He'd had no chance of victory from the start—even protesting that much had been an exercise in futility.

"They can stay, but only if you tell no one they were ever in my apartment, let alone on my tree."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Julian popped back into the kitchen and returned with a whole plate of gingerbread. "Have a biscuit. Ezri sent all kinds home with me today. They're excellent."

Garak hesitated . . . then took one, mindful of the tightness of his waistband as he did so. He bit off a leg, was unable to stifle his sound of pleasure, and reminded himself all over again of the weight he had gained. He had the feeling the knowledge wasn't going to make any difference to his restraint (or lack thereof).

"They're good, aren't they?" Julian said, unaware of Garak's struggle. To have his metabolism. . . . "Ezri's baking is definitely one of my favourite parts of Christmas. And speaking of Christmas, I was thinking we could decorate the tree after supper."

"Were you? What a surprise," Garak said dryly as he picked his way across the room. 

"I could put it all back if you'd rather wait for another night," Julian offered. He reached up to rub the back of his neck, then, remembering the cookie he still held, stopped. 

"Tonight is fine—if we wait much longer, we'll be taking down the tree as soon as we've put it up," he replied and Julian conceded the point.

He made a light supper; Julian was still slightly hungover from Jadzia's party the previous evening, and, it seemed, he'd spoiled his appetite with the cookies. Garak himself was completely unable to stop himself from taking another for dessert. Ezri Dax, it seemed, was a dangerously talented baker.

After the dishes had been cleared away, Julian made them hot chocolate and turned on their Christmas playlist. Given that Julian's taste mostly—but not always—leaned toward pop, and his own mostly—but not always—leaned toward classical and Cardassian traditional, it made for an extremely eclectic listening experience.

Then, for the fourth year in a row, they set to decorating his tree.

It had become a tradition over those years, one with special roles for each of them and little rituals, and that sent the sort of warmth through him that mere hot chocolate couldn't hope to imitate. He had no other memories to associate with the event, only these: Christmas wasn't a popular holiday in Cardassia and Tain wouldn't have celebrated it even if it had been. 

He was glad this was the case. He wanted nothing to intrude upon watching Julian reach up to drape the garland on the highest branches, seeing him smile as he reacquainted himself with the ornaments that had been hidden away in their boxes, upon the brief touch of Julian's hand to the small of his back as they crossed each other's paths on their way to fill a gap in the tree.

His one regret was the necessity of an artificial tree. Despite the inconveniences of watering and constantly vacuuming needles, he would have greatly preferred to fill their apartment with the tang of fir or pine. The store-bought one always made him feel as though he were giving Julian something that was second-best, and that was unacceptable.

How regrettable that the landlord, tired of scattered bits of nature in the hallways and trees clogging the dumpsters, did not seem to share his opinion and had banned real trees six years back. It hadn't mattered at the time to him, though his fellow tenants had certainly complained. But then he had met Julian, and it had suddenly mattered very much indeed.

He'd do this properly for Julian someday. When—

He glanced over to Julian, who was placing a delicate glass snowflake on one of the top branches. He was long and lean, his tongue just visible between his lips as he focused on not overbalancing and bringing the whole tree down at their feet. He was painfully beautiful.

Could he say "when"? He once would have wondered how long the incredible fortune of having Julian in his life would last. Now, though, and for some time it had very much looked as though Julian had decided to stay. 

But life was such an uncertain thing, always indifferent to one's intentions and plans. It was better to focus on the present, not on the future. Now he had an artificial tree, it was true, but he also had Julian, who seemed happy with matters as they were. 

Perhaps the second-best seemed that way only to him.

He picked up a small string of golden sleighbells to hang on the tree, and once Julian had finished positioning his ornament, he leaned in to kiss his cheek.

He felt Julian's smile beneath his lips. "I must have put too much chocolate in your drink—it's sweetened you up remarkably."

"I could find a lemon to suck if you'd prefer," he offered as he pulled away.

Julian's arm slid around him, briefly stopping him for an embrace. "That's quite all right. A little sweetness once in a while never hurt anyone."

He could have slipped away and continued decorating the tree. Instead, he remained where he was and curled an arm around Julian as well. He'd take the moment and make it, too, last the winter—but there it was again: the future. The present was better. It was much more sure and held soft lights and Julian at his side. Here was where he would live, and here was where he would allow himself to be, quite simply, happy.

*

When Garak returned from storing the empty boxes in his front closet, it was to discover two packages had already invaded the space beneath the tree. He also discovered Julian doing a truly terrible job at being nonchalant.

"I wonder, now, where these could _possibly_ have come from," Garak commented as he went to investigate more closely.

"Father Christmas might have made an early stop," Julian offered. He sat down on the floor next to him.

"He might have—but I believe Father Christmas knows how to keep his wrapping paper lined up straight." He lifted an eyebrow.

Julian gave him a look. "It's not too late to take these back, you know."

"I'm only joking, my dear. Your wrapping skills are as charming as always."

He sighed. "Just once, I'd like to be able to wrap my gifts like you. How do you do it?"

"Patience, a steady hand, and an eye for colour tend to help." He felt the first present. A book, almost certainly. Now what about the second . . . ?

"I suppose one out of three isn't enough, is it?"

"I'm afraid not."

Hmm. . . . Julian had wrapped this one in a great many layers, presumably to disguise an obvious shape. He would have to consider the possibilities with care.

He stood and set that particular mystery aside for the moment. "I would keep an eye out if I were you. Father Christmas is almost certain to make another delivery—or perhaps a series of deliveries—over the next few days."

"Is that so?" Julian rose as well. "In that case, I'll have to stay alert."

"A wise plan no matter the season. One never knows what surprises life will bring."

*

The surprises were, of course, in the form of one gift a day appearing beneath the tree. Garak made certain to add them in as stealthy of ways as he could conceive. It naturally would have been far easier to wait until Julian had needed to leave the apartment to add his presents, but then there would be no bafflement and accusations of cheating to revel in, and he wasn't about to forgo that much fun for the sake of simplicity.

He would need to do this again next year and find a way to increase the challenge. The prospect of impressing Julian still further was such a pleasant one, and it would be a great source of motivation.

The thought, drifting through his mind as he and Julian sat curled up against each other on the couch with their books, gave him pause. Perhaps it was a safe assumption to make. Perhaps he could plan like this for the future. Even if he couldn't depend on circumstances to be reliable—he could count on Julian.

He kissed the side of Julian's head and, after a pause, went back to his book.


	5. December 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve! I hope all of you have had a good day, whether you celebrate the holiday or not. And if things didn't go so well, I hope Julian and Elim being romantic dorks will bring a smile to your face, because boy do they do a lot of that in this chapter.
> 
> <3

Christmas Eve began with a silly, delightful tussle when Garak inquired a little too incredulously as to whether Julian truly had finished his Christmas shopping. Julian had flipped a corner of the blanket onto his face, Garak had flipped it back, and that had been all the excuse either of them had needed. The tussle had evolved into something else entirely after that, and was eventually followed by a long and lazy breakfast.

They had planned on not doing much of anything all day, which meant Julian had looked quite guilty when, mid-afternoon, he received an invite to go carolling. He would have turned it down, but, setting selfishness aside, Garak had insisted he accept if he wanted to.

Julian had, and so off Garak had sent him. He had stayed behind. Julian's friends presumably did wish to see Julian alone on occasion, and this allowed him both to have cocoa ready for Julian upon his return and to avoid the suddenly much colder weather that had settled in since the night of Jadzia's party. 

Julian returned a few hours later, flushed with the cold, energetic from the time with his friends, and sprinkled lightly with snow. It was melting into his coat and perched on the top strands of his hair, and there was even one stray snowflake caught in his eyelashes.

Garak greeted Julian with a kiss, savouring the contrast of cold lips against warm. (Winter could almost be redeemed by moments such as this.) He brought out the cocoa from the kitchen and they both settled in to either recapture warmth or savour the pleasure of having never lost it. 

He found himself thinking about the better parts of winter again later that evening, long after supper. It was difficult not to feel more charitable about the season when they sat together with a glass of wine each, all lights save those from the tree dimmed. In the ambience of their glow—which wasn't quite so garish, he found, after all—they existed in a meditative world of each other, for once speaking rarely. Instead, they preferred to simply be, and be with one another.

When it came time to prepare for bed, it took a long time for them to act. Neither of them wanted to break the peace they had created. But, at last, in an unconscious, simultaneous decision, they sighed and rose and left the living room behind.

*

Just before getting into bed, Julian unexpectedly and inexplicably retrieved a pair of bright red socks from his drawer and disappeared from the room.

"What in the world are you doing?" Garak called after him, mystified.

He received no answer until Julian returned with the addition of a roll of masking tape. He tugged off a length. "Hanging our stockings. I considered using tacks, but I thought you wouldn't appreciate it."

Garak watched as Julian proceeded to tape both socks to the end of his bed. All he could think of to say was, "I hope those are clean."

"They are, don't worry. I wouldn't want to chase away Father Christmas with smelly socks—or you, for that matter."

"Thank you. I appreciate your consideration." He watched Julian finish up and join him on the bed, then had to ask: "Might I ask why you've suddenly decided to do this? You hadn't demonstrated any interest in preparing for Father Christmas in previous years."

He had been expecting a flippant response, something light and easily dismissed. Instead, what he received was silence. His eyebrows lifted, then lifted farther when Julian said, "This is going to sound silly."

He could have said: "Sillier than hanging up stockings for Father Christmas?" He didn't. Instead, his answer was, "I hope by now, my dear, that you know you're free to speak your mind with me about any subject, no matter how silly you might think it is."

Julian looked up long enough to give him a brief smile. His gaze went back to the socks at the end of the bed and, after a moment of what appeared to be gathering himself up, said, "Well . . . it's that, when I go back to Andor and everyone at the hospital starts talking about what they did for their holidays, I, um, . . . want all of the memories the conversation brings up to be of you." His gaze slipped over, uncertain, and it was a dagger to the heart in the most exquisite way. "It doesn't matter if they talk about going to a party or going carolling or decorating a tree or anything else—I want you to be there. Even if you're only there in my thoughts."

He abruptly raked a hand through his hair. "God, I sound ridiculous."

"Not in the slightest," Garak said softly as his arms stole around Julian.

It twitched a smile out of him. "Good, because I'm certainly sounding ridiculous to _me_." He let out a breath. "Anyway . . . I didn't have any memories of doing this with you, so I thought I'd change that. And, um." Julian at last looked him fully in the face, if not the eye. "I'm assuming you don't have any memories of hanging stockings for Father Christmas, so I thought I'd change that, too."

. . . It remained the greatest mystery of his life, how he, Elim Garak, could possibly have won the heart of the man in his arms. It was beyond him even in the ordinary moments—watching Julian eat cereal at the kitchen table in his pajamas, shopping together for groceries. But in this moment of extraordinary kindness, the magnitude of his fortune was, quite simply, beyond his comprehension.

Julian had turned to face him, looking for confirmation that his instincts had been good. Garak gave it to him in the form of a kiss as light as snow.

"That would be a very safe assumption to make," he murmured—and then, suddenly, he laughed.

Julian jumped a little. "What?"

He subdued himself with effort. "Oh, just the thought of" —his chuckles returned, unstoppable— "of Enabran Tain playing _Father Christmas_."

Julian boggled before he, too, was lost to helpless laughter. "God, can you imagine the beard?"

Garak half leaned, half fell against him; they shook with giggles against each other. "And the _mittens_?"

"Ho ho ho," Julian wheezed, and that was it for both of them.

Finally, first Garak and then Julian managed to reassert control. With sore stomachs from mirth and cheeks stretched from too wide smiles, they tucked themselves under the covers, said and kissed (and kissed) their good nights, and at last Julian settled down to sleep.

Garak did not. He feigned the slowing of his breath even as he listened to Julian's and deliberately relaxed his limbs. When he felt certain Julian had been asleep for some time, he used every last piece of skill he had to slide from beneath the covers and pad barefoot from the room. 

He moved through the apartment as silently as if it belonged to another, thinking at a tremendous rate. All his presents for Julian were wrapped and under the tree. What did he have left that he could possibly give him? What _did_ Father Christmas leave for children in their stockings?

His first two ideas were simple to assemble and, on their own, certainly would have been enough to fill one not particularly large sock. But it was too easy, much too easy, and not at all what Julian deserved. He needed something else.

When the idea came to him, he forced himself not to rush as he assembled his supplies. There was a chance he would be discovered, it was true, but for Julian, he needed to do this right.

Once he was prepared, he went to sit at the kitchen table. He squinted through the darkness without his glasses, his heart beating hard enough to make his hand shake if he let it, and soundlessly, he set himself to his delicate, vital work.

*

Not long after he had returned to bed, he felt Julian attempt to creep away unnoticed. He pretended to come close to waking—he heard Julian hold his breath—before he supposedly settled once more into sleep. There was silence, and then the sound of Julian moving about their room as softly as he was able.

He listened to him rustle about, presumably gathering his gifts. Once he was done, he heard him tiptoe to the end of their bed. Garak smiled to himself when the noises suddenly stopped: Julian had discovered his full sock. It was a few moments before they resumed.

He listened to Julian placing gifts inside his "stocking." He could also hear the sound of masking tape letting go, little by little. Each time it gave, he could hear Julian's breath pause, then resume as the tape held.

. . . Until it didn't. In quick succession was the sound of peeling, a muffled thud, and a whispered " _Shit_." Now it took everything he had not to let his shoulders shake. Such language. 

Off Julian went. In the nighttime silence, it wasn't difficult to pick out the sound of more tape being pulled from the roll one room over, which once again taxed his efforts to remain straight-faced. When Julian returned, he seemed to spend quite a while affixing the stocking before he was satisfied it would remain in place. But at last the task was finished and Julian returned to bed. Garak continue to pretend ignorance to his absence, as difficult as it was not to react when a slim arm curled around him. 

He lasted five minutes before he shuffled more comfortably into Julian's arms.


	6. December 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! I hope Santa was kind to those of you who left their metaphorical chimneys open for him, and all the best wishes to those of you who don't celebrate the holiday. To those of you for whom this is a difficult time of year, I hope you find peace.
> 
> This chapter, of all of them, is made of spun sugar--but if you've read this far, I'm going to assume you don't have any objections to that sort of thing. I wrote this well before [propheticfire](propheticfire.tumblr.com) submitted a certain headcanon to [the Deep Dish Nine blog on tumblr](deep-dish-nine.tumblr.com), and so I was greatly amused when it turned upon my dash. We went sort of in completely opposite directions with it, though.
> 
> Thank you to [Lady Yate-xel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyYateXel/), who was kind enough to loan me a certain idea of hers. <3
> 
> Once again, all my love and gratitude to everyone who's read my fics and supported me this year. All of you are awesome and I'm so lucky to have each and every one of you in my life. <3

"What a surprise!" Garak exclaimed the following morning. "It seems Father Christmas has paid a visit to both of us."

"And he didn't even bring you a lump of coal—he must have been feeling forgiving this year," Julian teased as he left the bed with considerably less care than he had in the middle of the night.

"I would be careful if I were you, my dear," Garak warned, doing the same. "Otherwise, that may be your fate next year."

"I can't imagine Father Christmas has that long of a memory."

"You might be surprised."

He went to investigate his stocking. He had been expecting tiny, silly trinkets—how much could anyone fit in a sock, truly? —and so he was very pleasantly surprised to find a high quality and lightly scented bar of soap, a tiny matching bottle of lotion, and a number of his favourite chocolates. The last was particularly fortunate, as. . . .

"Elim, did you give me your chocolates?"

"I did, yes," he said on a sigh. "You must admit, you didn't precisely leave me with much time to prepare."

"Well—thank you, but here." Julian held out a fistful.

But Garak raised a hand. "I gave them to you, and I intend for you to have them. Take them and enjoy."

He hesitated, then set all but one of the chocolates in a pile on the floor. "Thanks. I promise I won't eat them all at once." He untwisted the foil on the chocolate he held and popped it into his mouth; his eyes widened. "Mm! I'm already seeing why you like them so much." 

Julian reached into his stocking again, and the most entertaining startled look crossed his face. ". . . Elim, why is there a clementine in my sock?"

"It should be an orange, but it would have stretched your sock out of shape and would have been too much for the tape." As he assumed the soap had been the previous night for his own stocking.

"All right, but why an orange?"

"It's a traditional gift for children on Cardassia, albeit one usually given on birthdays. Oranges used to be a rarity—they require far too much water to be a viable crop—and so they were considered food for special occasions. I realize in the Federation, citrus fruits are plentiful, but I thought this would be an interesting curiosity, if nothing else."

"Thank you. I'll make sure to savour it," he promised.

Then he slid his hand into his sock one last time and Garak didn't hold his breath. 

"Hm?"

Julian withdrew his hand, a scrap of paper caught between his index and middle fingers. When he unfolded it and took in the blocky Cardassian letters, his expression brightened. "Oh, it's another note! What does this one say, 'Happy Christmas'?"

Garak smiled widely to erase any nerves he felt from not only his expression but his body as well. "You know very well you won't get so much as a hint from me."

"I know, but it was worth a try." He folded the note again and set it on his bedside table, then returned to look down at Garak with the most appealing expression of anticipation. "All right, let's go open our other gifts."

Garak pushed off from the floor (surviving on reduced sleep was getting more difficult by the year). Feigning surprise, he asked, "Aren't you going to have breakfast first?"

Julian snorted. "As tempting as the thought may be, no, I don't think so."

"Well, I believe I will. A long, leisurely breakfast sounds ideal this morning." He began strolling toward the bedroom door. "You can simply wait while I—oof!"

He nearly took a spill from the sudden shove he received, but kept and maintained his balance as he was pushed right out the bedroom door and toward the living room.

"Oh no," Julian said firmly. "We are opening our gifts now and that will be that."

"If you insist," he relented, doing his best to sound weary in spite of the smile he hid. It was, naturally, an impossible task.

There was a very respectable pile of presents under the tree, more than any previous year. The majority of them, as always, were for Julian, but Garak still hadn't done too badly for himself. There was the gift Ziyal always insisted on giving him, as well as numerous small treats from his recent and regular customers. Odo had given him nothing, as he didn't celebrate the holiday, but he had made his usual point of stopping by the shop to give his uncomfortable and short holiday greetings. As far as Garak was concerned, that was a present in itself.

And there were also the holiday cards. Even years after the first one addressed to "Julian and Elim" had arrived, he still considered each one among his gifts. There had been a particularly large flurry of them this year, and they dusted most surfaces save the floor in the living room. His collection of cards from previous years was about to undergo a great expansion.

Julian, of course, had been showered with presents. As always, they had come from a plethora of sources: close friends, such as Jadzia and the O'Briens; former coworkers, such as Kira; and even close acquaintances, such as Mrs. Yates-Sisko. Julian was simply the sort of person one wanted to give gifts to. Small wonder his holiday shopping caused him so much suffering when he had so many people to buy for in return.

For all Julian's earlier enthusiasm, unwrapping the presents was a relaxed affair. They took their time opening the packages, holding up each item as it was revealed for the other to admire. But when one of Julian's gifts to him came to hand, he paused, then set it aside before searching out one of his own for Julian.

"Here you are, my dear," he said as he handed over Julian's gift.

"Oh! Thanks." 

He finished up a square of fudge that had been part of the gift the O'Briens had given him, then wiped his fingers on his pajama bottoms. (Garak failed to suppress his expression of distaste.)

"On three?" Julian suggested.

"You can count if you like, but given you'll be examining your new gift before I've finished untying the ribbon, I don't particularly see the point."

"All right, so you start and then I'll count to three for myself."

"Ten might be better."

"Ten it is."

Garak began unwrapping his gift to the sound of counting, smiling as he did. This was the one that Julian had made an attempt to conceal its shape, but judging from the weight and the little he could feel through the paper, it seemed to be a bottle of some sort. That left him in a state of trepidation. Julian's taste in alcohol had improved over the years, but there had still been some spectacular misfires. He braced himself as he pulled away the last of what seemed to be fifteen layers of paper, a grateful smile at the ready.

It fell away unused as his mouth dropped open.

"1966 kanar—Julian, where on Earth did you _find_ this?" With wide eyes, he looked up into the smug face of his truly extraordinary partner.

"Oh, I have my ways," he said, sounding extremely pleased with himself.

As well he should: "But the government severely limits how much kanar leaves the Union, particularly kanar of this quality. Where— _how_ did you get it?"

"You're just going to have to work that out, aren't you?" Julian told him loftily.

Garak set aside the bottle with the sort of reverence usually given to holy objects. Then he bowed as far as his seated position allowed. "Thank you."

Julian flushed. "You're welcome." He lowered his gaze to his mostly opened gift in his lap and tore off the remaining piece of paper. "Ah—oh, thank you." 

He held up a pile of soft, steel blue wool, then started unfolding it. When he was finished, he held a scarf, mittens, and a hat, all of which were both thick and delicate. He proceeded to pop the hat onto his head. "These should go perfectly with the coat you made me."

"They ought to," he replied, "since that was my intent when I made them."

Now it was his turn to be smug as Julian did a visible doubletake and checked for tags that weren't there. "You made these?"

"That's right."

"Since when do you know how to knit?" he demanded as he turned the scarf over and over in his hands.

His smile was very nearly a grin. "Come now, my dear, I can't tell you _all_ my secrets, can I?"

"You could tell me this one," he grumbled, though it was obvious he wasn't serious. His expression soon melted into a smile of his own. "Thank you, Elim. From the bottom of my heart—and the tips of my ears."

He raised his eyebrows. "Tell me you haven't been going out without a hat in _Andor_."

"Well . . . only sometimes? Phew." He removed the hat, thereby adding still more volume to his voluminous bedhead. "I don't think I'm ever going to be cold again."

"Good, as now there's no longer any excuse for you to be," he said tartly and reached for the next present under the tree.

Since he'd wrapped an extra, merely practical gift for Julian, when his partner came across it, he told him to simply go ahead. Inside were three dress shirts for work, all perfectly tailored to fit Julian's unique shape.

"I'm going to be the best-dressed doctor in Andor at this rate," he remarked as his hand smoothed over the front of one of the shirts for approximately the fifth time. (Apparently, he approved of Garak's fabric choice.)

"I hope so. That is my goal, after all," he answered.

Julian smiled, but with a distracted air. He reached under the tree, hesitated, and then brought out the second gift he'd wrapped. Garak had originally assumed this one was a book, but given Julian's demeanour, he was revising his conclusion.

"Ah, here. You may as well open this now."

His words were awkward, as were his movements, and accordingly, Garak took the gift with great care. However, rather than begin to open it, he set it in his lap. "Then it seems it's time for me to give you this."

He had kept a careful eye on the exact location of his final gift to Julian, so that the moment of its presentation wasn't marred by him scrabbling through the remaining packages beneath the tree. Now he held it out for Julian to take, which his partner did with just a touch of uncertainty.

This gift had been the last one he had made appear beneath the tree. His timing had been deliberate. It was by far the smallest, a box perhaps eight centimetres on each side. Very little could fit in something that small, and he didn't want to unsettle Julian over a period of days if his mind jumped to the most obvious conclusion.

"Why don't you open your gift first?" Garak suggested, watching him cradle it in long, suddenly slack hands.

"Oh, uh, all right." Somewhat slower about it than usual, Julian pulled the wrapping from the package to reveal a small, blue velvet box with a hinged lid. Julian made a noise at the sight—of what type, Garak couldn't say—then took in a silent breath and opened the case.

It didn't contain a ring. Instead, two cufflinks rested inside, each shaped like a circle with a single twist. They were made of half copper and half silver, two distinct parts that joined at the twist and directly opposite.

Julian looked up. The gratitude on his face was shaded with another emotion, and though they had been partners for over four years now, he was utterly unable to say whether that emotion was relief—or regret.

"Thank you," he said as he reached over to momentarily cover Garak's hand with one of his. "These are—well, beautiful."

He nodded, but his heart was beating no slower at the positive reception of his gift. "You should look them up sometime in that book I gave you. There's more to them than first appears."

The book he was referring to was one he had given Julian their second Christmas together. It was a guide to Cardassia and its history, cultures, and current affairs up to the date of publication that he had spent weeks annotating with most of a block of sticky notes. He had been sarcastic and as witty as possible by turns, and even, occasionally, genuine. And tucked away somewhere in the book's five hundred pages was the key to that symbol.

Julian laughed, the sound achingly fond. "Isn't there always?" He started to get up. "I'll just go— _damn_. The book is back in Andor!"

He smiled as his heart gave one more leap, then settled back into its usual rhythm. "Then it seems the second piece of your gift will have to wait."

"Can't you just tell me?" Julian pleaded. His quick fingers had already freed the cufflinks and now he was pooling them from hand to hand.

His smile grew. "I could, but I won't. You'll simply have to find out."

"Oh, very well." He sighed, caught up the cufflinks in a fist, then set them aside. (Garak marked their place attentively.) "Then I suppose you may as well have your gift now."

"I suppose I may."

He slid open the taped-down fold at one end of the present, but, mindful of the anxious look on Julian's face, he didn't take his time. He even consented to letting the paper rip somewhat.

He had been right to wonder whether his gift was in fact a book. Once he had discarded the wrapping paper, he found himself holding something he hadn't seen for years: a photo album. The cover was generic splashes of colour and told him nothing, and so he opened it.

There were four pictures on the first page, held in place by thin plastic. They showed a neighbourhood in what had to be Andor, judging from the slate blue tinge to the grey stone of the apartment building featured in the top two photos. And the moment his mind made that connection, it was right there that Garak realised what he was holding.

He looked up suddenly to Julian. His partner had gone slightly tense and his hands were wrapped around his ankles.

"I wrote captions on the back of the photos. You can take them out and read them if you like," he explained. Despite his obvious nervousness, his gaze held steady.

Garak shifted along the polished floor until he sat next to Julian. His partner released an ankle to curl his arm around him and Garak settled the album across their laps.

"If it's all the same to you," he said, "I'd rather hear it from the source."

He watched Julian's eyes flick back and forth, taking in the images in front of both of them as he composed what he wanted to say.

Then he began to speak—to draw Garak into his new life.

"Well, this is where I'm living at the moment. It's in one of the newer sections of the city, and I have to say, I like it. . . ."


	7. December 26 - January 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian and Garak's time together comes to an end, but their gifts to each other aren't quite complete yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the end of the month and at the end of these two's time together. Thank you very much to everyone who's read along--it's been lovely sharing the holiday with you this year.
> 
> As a heads up, since I spent pretty much all my time on this for the last couple of months, there'll be a bit of a gap before I'm able to post my next fic. I have lots of stuff waiting in the wings that needs only to be dictated and polished, but finding time to do as much is easier said than done.
> 
> Until then, may 2014 be the best year ever for everyone, and I look forward to seeing you all with a fresh batch of fics in the new year. <3

The few days after Christmas before Julian was due to return to Andor went by cruelly fast. In that time, they found as many excuses as possible to touch each other, would have irritated each other getting completely underfoot if they hadn't been so aware of their imminent separation.

The morning of Julian's departure, it was snowing again, just a few thin flakes, as he and Julian brought out the luggage to the car. Finishing up their last-minute preparations, they chatted, teased, and flirted as they always did, but beneath their words lay the knowledge that their time together was coming to a close.

They stopped to pick up both Dax sisters this time; Ezri's shift at Deep Dish Nine wasn't until the afternoon. Jadzia and Ezri more than kept up the conversation with Julian, which was just as well: the farther Garak drove, the more he wanted to simply absorb this last moment, rather than participate.

Though they made it to the airport well in advance of the recommended arrival time, Julian elected to go through security early all the same. Given that they couldn't follow (not unless they all wanted to go to Andor with him), the ropes and pylons that contained the waiting lineup of Julian's fellow travellers formed the backdrop of their parting.

Both sisters hugged Julian tight. When it came to his turn, however, Garak silenced the inner voice demanding he remain aloof, and he kissed him.

It was light and brief—they had already made their true goodbyes in private—but all the same, as he stepped away and let his arms fall back to his sides, there was a sort of wonder in Julian's face. He knew what that had cost.

Then, somewhat awkwardly, Julian gave them one last smile and a few more well-wishes, picked up the handle of his rolling suitcase, and joined the lineup. It was a separation as sure as if his flight had already left, and so the three of them departed from the airport to begin the quieter trip back to the city.

*

In the middle of their Airpe call the following evening, Julian said suddenly, casually, "I looked up the cufflinks in my book."

"Did you?" Garak asked, and though his own unconcerned tone sounded far more natural, it was just as much of a front as Julian's.

He watched Julian fidget with something just out of view of the webcam. "I did. Yes."

A circle with a single twist, known to the mathematical world as a Möbius strip and known to the Cardassians as an important symbol of joining. Two parts coming together, retaining their distinctness, but together forming an unending whole.

"I . . . read that they make rings like that in Cardassia," Julian carefully went on.

"They do, yes," he said, not committing to anything more.

A silence. Then Julian thanked him once again for the gift and the conversation, after a pause, moved to safer ground.

*

A week later: "Garak, the note you gave me is gibberish!"

The aggravations of his day were at once forgotten at the sweet sound of Julian's exasperation. "Oh? Is it, now?"

"Here, look, this is what I got when I translated it—you tell me this isn't gibberish!"

Garak watched with delight as Julian consulted something he couldn't see and typed his translation into the chatbox.

" _There_."

Garak checked the message, then said with mildness meant to infuriate, "That looks accurate to me."

Julian looked as if he wanted to reach through the screen and strangle him. "You can't possibly have given me _nonsense_ for Christmas!"

"You're right." He beamed. "I haven't." When his only response was silence, he added, "Did I ever say the translation would be a single step?"

*

For a few weeks afterward, every evening that he logged onto Airpe, he expected to see a triumphant Julian flapping at the camera a piece of paper with the cracked code scrawled over it. But Julian said nothing, even acting as though he had forgotten about it.

But he couldn't have. Julian was voraciously curious, and while the demands of his work were great, surely he would have found time _somewhere_.

He hadn't lost interest, had he?

*

Picking up the mail from his box was a necessary chore, one he was entirely indifferent to. The only mail he ever received was either bills or advertisements—hardly the sort of thing to inspire eagerness.

So when he pulled out an envelope addressed by hand, it took him a moment to register the sight. But then his brain shouted at him that this was _Julian's_ handwriting, and with that, he rushed back downstairs, all forgotten save his need to open the envelope and read what Julian had written him.

For a brief moment, he thought that Julian had played some sort of prank on him: the envelope appeared empty. But there—tucked against the bottom seam was a long, thin slip of paper.

With careful haste, he dug it out, opened it. Held his breath quite without being aware of it.

The message was brief and in coded Kardasi. It wasn't strictly grammatical and the letters had the look of something drawn, not written. Neither fact mattered, because the instant he decoded the message, it left him standing in the middle of his silent apartment, that precious paper pressed against his heart.

He kept it with him for the rest of the day. That night, he left it on his bedside table so that it would be the first thing he saw in the morning.

There it stayed, all winter long.

*

_My dear Julian: you are my summer sun, bringing life to each cold winter day._

_My dear Elim: I no longer feel Andor's winds, because when I go outside, I wrap myself in you._


End file.
